


early and often

by slybrunette



Category: Dead Like Me
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slybrunette/pseuds/slybrunette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he’s got on what she would nicely refer to as hobo gloves, ratty and fingerless like that happened by accident instead of being trendy, and every time they even come near her she shudders at the thought of where those might have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	early and often

“Don’t touch me with those.”

It’s the middle of her workday and he’s been making good use of his time for the past ten minutes by harassing her at the office, lingering in her cubicle and occasionally poking at her when she’s been quiet for too long. He’s got on what she would _nicely_ refer to as hobo gloves, ratty and fingerless like that happened by accident instead of being trendy, and every time they even come near her she shudders at the thought of where those might have been.

Like now, when he does it again, right in her shoulder like he’s removing a piece of lint or something.

Mason has the nerve to ask, “Touch you with what?”

“With those gloves, you asshole,” she retorts, complete with a deadly glare; both the language and the look pretty much take her out of the running for Happy Time poster child. Not that there is one. She hopes. He frowns and she doesn’t apologize. “You might want to consider washing them. Or finding them a new home in a dumpster somewhere.”

In response, he skims a finger along her bare neck, under the collar of her button-down shirt. She seriously considers killing him with whatever office supplies she can get her hands on first but instead settles for moving her chair to the right and _away_. He follows and she swats his hand away.

“Mason,” she’s exasperated by the third time and about to start slapping him in the face instead. She can see the edge of a yellow post-it sticking out of his pants pocket and badly wishes she didn’t know his assigned reap for the day wasn’t for another four hours. He smiles mischievously, moves a hand and – now she’s slapping him in the face. Hard. She makes no apologies.

“Ow!” He says, a hand over his cheek which is turning a faint pink in the exact shape of her hand. He sputters, “What did you do that for?”

“Because I’m trying to work,” George over-enunciates, and loudly at that, making a note to take it down a notch if she doesn’t want any more looks than she already gets on a daily basis. Especially not from Delores. “Now stop bugging me or the next time I injure you it won’t have anything to do with your hand.”

Her attempt to look pointedly in the general direction of his groin is met with a suggestive look from him. She rolls her eyes.

“Go bother Daisy.” A glance at the document open in front of her on the computer screen proves that he’s gotten her completely off-track. Not that she really cares all that much about…whatever it was she was doing. “It’s not like she actually works.”

“I already did.” He replies, doing something to his hair in the reflective surface of a CD that happens to be shiny side up. “She made me leave.”

“Probably because you attempted to feel her up while wearing those,” she spares a glance at the offending article, checks the look on his face just to see if the retort had any effect, hoping for outrage and finding confirmation instead. “Oh come on.”

He shrugs; there is no shame on his part.

“And your next thought was to come here – “ she watches him flex his fingers, allows herself a split second to wrap her brain around the interpretation she’s making from this and then – “no. You leave and go find some groupie or whatever it is that you’re into who doesn’t have a job and you go bother her. Not me.”

“Come on,” he half-whines, half-purrs. She finds neither particularly sexy, even if she’s sure fifty percent of her current feelings towards him is based on the gloves and the constant poking and prodding and _touching_. “There’s an empty meeting room.”

“If this was about convenience and location, I would’ve jumped your bones in my house.” He pulls at her arm as soon as she turns, not doing with the prodding yet. “You’re not going to leave me alone are you?”

His lack of an answer means no. She sighs.

“If I do this, I burn the gloves.”

 

\---

 

She ends up with her legs wrapped around him as they back up into the room and her ass bumps up against the wooden table in the meeting room. She pushes herself up so that she’s sitting on it, evening out the height difference, and he was hard before they got in the damn door.

This will not last long, she thinks, another roll of her eyes; everything comes far too early in her life.

“Oh thank god,” he moans, as soon as she gets his pants undone, gets her hand around the base of his cock. She’s decided that they’re doing this quick and easy way. Namely, her hand stroking his shaft, up and down, finding a rhythm, and her with her clothes still on, where she intends them to stay. She can ask him to return the favor later if she feels so inclined. He grunts when she runs her thumb over the slit of his head, backing off when he gets a little too vocal.

“Mason,” she warns, low and from the back of her throat, “shut up or go home.”

His response is a needy moan and she returns her hand to his cock.

As predicted, he doesn’t last long. His hips buck and he comes all over her hand but thankfully not her clothes or his own. There would be no explaining that one. His hands are braced on the table on either side of her and she almost finds some sense of amusement in the dazed look on his face. He’s cuter when he’s quiet, which is definitely not often.

“Happy now?” She asks, when he’s come back down, face showcasing a satisfied smile now, this close to the Cheshire cat.

“God yes.” He straightens up; she internally maps out how quickly she can get to the restroom so she can clean up and not be there when he leaves. “You are amazing, Georgie, you know that?”

“I have work now,” she says, not in the mood to listen to his orgasm-driven praise. She slides down off the table and back into the shoes she can’t stand.

“Right. Well, I’ll just be on my way then,” he actually gets the hint this time and she’s comfortable with watching him walk out the door before she realizes –

“Hey,” she almost shouts before she remembers where she is, “gloves.”

“But – “

“Gloves!” This time she does shout. It’s a perfectly innocuous word.

Begrudgingly he hands them over, and by then she’s definitely glad to get rid of the puppy-dog looks he’s shooting her way right before he walks out the door. She hangs back for a minute, waiting until she’s sure no one will notice if she slips out, before darting towards the bathroom.

If nothing else, she’s got another trick up her sleeve when it comes to dealing with Mason.


End file.
